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amethyst-noir · 6 years

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Now, because I love to watch the world burn, here’s a really angst filled prompt. After Infinity War, Stephen purposefully poisons himself, made to slowly break apart his soul to completely erase any chance of reviving him afterwards. Wong and Tony don’t notice anything until Stephen’s almost dead. So when they find Stephen unconscious, it becomes a race against time to save the Sorcerer Supreme. (Bonus angst, the reason he poisoned himself was for guilt over giving up the Time Stone)

Anon! How dare you! That's…horrifying! Brutal! Gruesome! I stopped breathing for a moment when I read itfor the first time! I love it and wrote this in two evenings when I shouldhave done other things. Considering you want to watch the world burn Isincerely hope that you like this total angst-fest. But I still managed towrestle some kind of bittersweet ending from this. More bitter, admittedly, butat least it’s not pitch black. ;) I still don’t know anything about the comicsso this is pure MCU mixed with my own fucked up imagination.

The title is, once again, taken froma song. They’re locking up the sun / Thelight of reason gone / N’ hope has been successfully undone - Locking Upthe Sun, Poets of the Fall.

TW for attempted suicide via reallynasty magic and major depression. Stephen’s not in a good place but there are externalforces at work. (I just couldn’t bear to make him that desperate withoutoutside “help”.) He and Tony still have to live with theconsequences, though.

The nice and fluffy promptfills arestill coming, promise. It’s just that this one came along, hit me over the head,and demanded to be written RIGHT NOW AND DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES.

LockingUp the Sun

Stephen found references to the spell years ago whenhe was still a novice at Kamar-Taj. Back then the daily pain had been bad buthe’d just found new hope. When he’d read about it he’d shuddered, horrified atthe mere concept and unable to imagine how somebody could be that desperate. Itwas overkill anyway. Dead was dead and you didn’t come back from that.

How naïve and clueless he’d been back then.

Being a powerful master on the cusp of being named thenext Sorcerer Supreme had its perks. One of them was unsupervised access toWong’s domain - the library of Kamar-Taj. It was easy to work his way throughthe references in various books until he finally held the tome that held theactual spell in his shaking hands. He looked and it and shuddered all overagain. It was horrifying. Gruesome. Dark magic at its worst.

It was what he needed - deserved - after all he’ddone. It was the only way he could really be sure that this death would finally stick.

Stephen felt relived, despite everything that awaitedhim in the near future. He was willing to pay any price to finally end it forgood.

It would be slow and painful; the book had warned. Thegradual breaking of the connection between his body and his soul would taketime and he would feel every agonizing second of it. Stephen didn’t mind. Hecould live, or rather die, with pain.

His hands were shaking far more than usual when hetraced the sigils over the tea he’d brought with him and murmured theincantation. As soon as he was finished he took the cup and drank it withouthesitation. The let it vanish immediately afterwards; there was no reason toleave any trace of what he’d done behind. He felt nothing but a slight twingein his chest but that would soon change, he was sure of that. He carefully putthe book back where he’d found it and left the library. Another meeting withthe other masters and his duties here would be done. Forever. Then he wouldcollect the Cloak, which he had left behind in his quarters because he knewthat it would have tried to stop him at any cost, and return home to theSanctum.

And wait for the end there. Despite what he knew hestill hoped that it would come sooner rather than later.

The same night he woke up in the worst pain he’d everexperienced. His hands, his neck, his back, his chest - it was waking up afterthe accident all over again but without the benefit of painkillers to get himthrough it. The book had been right; he could feel the first fractures in hissoul. He gritted his teeth, let the tears flow and knew that this was just thebeginning. It would get worse from day to day until finally…

He couldn’t wait for the moment when he’d take hisfinal breath, secure in the knowledge that nothing and nobody could and wouldbring him back from this.

I’m coming, the promised the waiting darkness. Just a littlewhile longer and I’ll be with you.

He should have died years ago in that car crash. Heshould have bled out, or drowned, or the impact should have snapped his neck.He was just correcting a mistake, that was all.

As predicted the pain grew worse almost by the hour.His familiarity with chronic pain didn’t help one bit - this one was pure hellwith no relief except death in sight. He couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’tsleep, he could do nothing but curl up in some corner and try to endure itwithout screaming. He’d left the Cloak downstairs and locked himself into hisbedroom. He’d never leave it again. Wong would probably be the one to find hisbody after he didn’t show up to the ceremony to make him Sorcerer Supreme. Itcouldn’t be helped but Stephen regretted it nevertheless.

Despite everything, Stephen reveled in theexcruciating pain. He’d made so many mistakes, in first life as well as the newone he’d been granted after the accident. He’d laughed in the face of rules,he’d misused magic and - worst of all - he’d dared to take on theresponsibilities of the Sorcerer Supreme and given away what was not his. Andnow those in charge wanted to gift him with the title for real, when he’dalready proven over and over again that he wasn’t even worthy of the magicalabilities he already possessed. The slow breaking down of his soul was the onlyfitting punishment; the fading away into nothing, after he gave the Eye ofAgamotto away, had been far too kind. And then he’d been brought back from thatanyway.

A new wave of pain passed over him and Stephen chokedon his breath. This time it was not the poison but the thought of Tony thatmade him double over and cry out in misery.

I’m sorry, he thought for the very first time since he’d made the decision to usethe poison. Ever since he’d realized that his feelings for Tony Stark hadchanged from tentative friendship to the very first stirrings of love he’d beenafraid. Afraid of being found out, afraid of the inevitable rejection. Eventhough the poor man’s engagement hadn’t survived the arrival and eventualdefeat of Thanos there wasn’t any sign that that Tony felt anything butreluctant friendship with him. They’d met a few times for lunch or dinner,sure. They’d talked about a lot of things, but nothing too personal. Or hadthey? It was hard to concentrate and his memory had become blurry in the lastfew days. They had only touched once and that had been when Stephen hadstumbled and only Tony’s lightning fast reflexes had kept him on his feet. Ifhe really concentrated he could still feel Tony’s grip on his left arm and heallowed himself the luxury of recalling the moment in every detail. He couldn’tremember another moment in recent memory when he’d felt as safe and protected.

Stephen’s sacrifice had been worth it, yes, because itmeant the world still had living, breathing Tony Stark in it. But that didn’tmean that he didn’t have to be punished for his transgressions.

Another sliver of his soul broke away and for a whileStephen forgot about everything but the pain.

Soon, the darkness whispered. Just hold on for a little while longer.

Seven days after he used the spell Stephen finallyslipped into unconsciousness. His body still fought the magic and triedeverything to keep itself alive but it was no use. By now Stephen’s soul wasalmost completely severed from his body and the parts that had been cruellybroken away had withered and died without their anchor.

It was the day Doctor Stephen Strange was supposed totake over the responsibilities of the Sorcerer Supreme and when he didn’t showup Wong was the one to visit the Sanctum to look for his errant friend andformer pupil.

“Boss, there’s a call for you.”

“Not now, FRIDAY. I’ve still got this report togo through and after that…”

“It’s Master Wong. He says to tell you that it’sabout Doctor Strange.”

Well, that got his attention. Tony barely knewWong, had met the man only a handful of times after Thanos’ defeat. ButStephen? That was another matter. They were friends, even though there oftenwere long periods of time where they didn’t speak to one another because oftheir busy, hectic and pretty incompatible lives. Come to think of it he hadn’theard from Stephen in about two weeks or so. Time for a call, hedecided. He had some cool new stuff to show off and he kind of missed thecompany of an intellectual equal who was also funny and very nice to look at. “Puthim through.”

“Mr. Stark? It’s about Stephen. I need yourhelp.”

No hello, no nothing. But there was an undertone inWong’s voice that put Tony on red alert. “What happened? I can bethere…”

“Now,” Wong finished the sentence for himthe same moment a portal formed in the middle of Tony’s office. Wong put downthe phone and just spoke directly to Tony. “The idiot has done somethingto himself and now he’s dying.”

Tony didn’t even think about the obvious answers tothat. Like: Did you call an ambulance? or Do you want me to get himto hospital? or the most important one And why do you call me?Instead he got up, made sure that the Nano-reactor was on him and steppedthrough the portal with only the tiniest hint of trepidation. Other, moreimportant, questions and feelings where crowding out the rest. “Where’sStephen?” he asked the moment he stepped through the portal. Wong lookedafraid and frenzied - both things Tony would never have him thought capable of.

Instead of answering Wong just grabbed him by thesleeve and dragged him along the hallway to the door to Stephen’s bedroom wherethe Cloak was fluttering around in a panic. The bad feeling intensified as Tonylooked between Wong and Cloak. “Stephen?” he asked and was surprisedhow quiet and weak his voice sounded.

“Is in there.” Wong gestured to the closeddoor. “It’s magically blocked and I can’t break the spells. I’m hoping youcan blast the door open.”

“And how do you know that he’s not just sleepingin there and we’ll wake him up for nothing?” Tony didn’t think so, notwhen he took the behavior of the Cloak into account and Wong’s uncharacteristicanxiety. He’d already activated the suit and configured a cannon before Wongcould answer.

“He should have been in Kamar-Taj today for animportant… meeting. When he didn’t arrive on time I did a quick locating spelland it showed him here. There’s no reason for that and so I did another spell.It revealed that he’s not sleeping but actually dying behind a magically lockeddoor.” Wong gave it an affronted look and a kick. “It’s bad so hurry up and let us in!”

Wong’s final shout got drowned out by the noise of thedoor splintering in a thousand pieces. Tony was the first one through theremains and the dust of the blasted door and scanned the room, the Cloak behindhim, while Wong was still coughing in the hallway.

“Stephen?” There, in the corner, that washim, wasn’t it? “Stephen!” Tony shouted before sprinting over to thebody lying on his side on the floor before the window. The suit was alreadyretracted back into its reactor by the time Tony fell to his knees besideStephen. “Stephen?” he tried again, far more quietly this time. Hecarefully reached out to touch Stephen’s neck to feel for a pulse. His handswhere still shaking slightly, so he was not dead, but he didn’t look aliveeither. To pale, to thin, to cool and far too still apart from the shaking. Washe even still breathing? “What have you done to yourself?” Stillpressing his fingers to Stephen’s neck and counting the too weak and slow pulsehe moved over to the side to make room for Wong. “FRIDAY? What’s thestatus?” he asked while Wong performed some complicated looking handmovements, complete with muttered non-English.

The sensors in Tony’s glasses painted a grim picture.“Heart rate is dangerously low, as is his temperature. Brain activityalmost at zero.” FRIDAY lowered her voice to a whisper. “Death isimminent, boss.”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment to not see thediagrams anymore and swallowed. “Wong?” Despite everything he hopedfor a better diagnosis from the sorcerer but he only got a shake of his head.The Cloak, which had approached cautiously, reached out to touch Stephen, too.Tony moved out of its way to allow it easier access. Its agitation was clear tosee.

“I can confirm what your lady is saying. He’salmost completely gone.”

“But why? He was healthy two weeks agowhen we last met! He couldn’t deteriorate this fast!” Panic tried to clawits way back into the forefront of his mind and Tony fought against it with allof his will. He had no time for it. “He was looking perfect two weeksago,” he repeated, helplessly. Tony had been this close to asking him outon a proper date but hat hesitated at the last moment when Stephen hadmentioned something big coming up in Kamar-Taj. Another time, Tony haddecided. They had more than enough of it, after all.

Wong just looked down and Stephen with tears in hiseyes. “Why?” he whispered. “Why did you do that toyourself?”

Wong’s words brought him back to reality. “Whatdid he do? And don’t tell me that it’s some magic secret or God help me…”

“Suicide,” Wong interrupted. “He killedhimself in a way so gruesome and brutal that a non-sorcerer can’t evencomprehend it.”

Killed himself. Not tried to. Tony concentrated on the faintheartbeat under his fingertips. “He’s not gone yet. How can we savehim?”

But Wong shook his head. “We can’t. He poisonedhis soul, ripped it away from his body, piece by piece. It’s a drawn-out andvery painful death. There is no way of saving him. The spell is designed toprevent exactly that.”

“No!” Tony refused to accept that. He’d losttoo many people, most of them in brutal ways, but not one of them to suicide.He’d been tempted from time to time, sure, but to actually do it? In a manneras brutal as Wong had just described? That Tony couldn’t understand. Just mix afew pills with alcohol and get it over with. Or go out in a blaze of glory whilesaving the lives of others.

There had been no warning signs, whatsoever. Two weeksago Stephen had been the perfect company for a nice dinner - charming and funnyand so much Tony’s type that he could barely keep his hands to himself. Thesigns had been there, he was sure that Stephen was also interested. But stillhe’d managed to restrain himself from just kissing Stephen on his beautifullips. I should have done that. Maybe he wouldn’t have…

“You said it ripped apart his soul,” thewords left a bad taste in his mouth and his stomach heaved. Poor Stephen. Why?What hurt you so bad? “Is there a way to… I don’t know… put it backtogether?”

“The poison weakened the connection between hisphysical form and his soul and fractured it in the process. Then… pieces of it,for lack of a better term, broke off, bit by bit.” Wong took both ofStephen’s still shaking hands between his own. “The severed pieces witherand die immediately. The process is painful and takes days. Death is theinevitable end, there’s no antidote and now way to stop it once it started.He’s already gone. His body just hasn’t realized it yet.”

“There has to be a way.” Tony’s voice hadbroken completely and he could see almost nothing through the veil of tears.There had to be a way. “There’s still something of his soul left,right? Otherwise he would be dead?”

“Stark, Tony, he’s already…”

“Yes or no, Wong. Is there still something of hissoul left?” That beautiful, wonderful soul that deserved only happinessand the best things the universe had to offer but had to suffer through so muchinstead. Too much, Tony’s subconscious supplied. He didn’t know whatexactly had broken Stephen in the end but it didn’t matter. They would find away through it, he would drag Stephen to the best therapy money could buy andhe would watch over him 24/7 until the stars burned out if that’s what wasnecessary to keep him alive.

Another incantation, more murmuring but at the endWong nodded. “Not much, it’s literally hanging on by a thread, but he’sstill in there.” Tears stained his face and he looked as stunned as Tonyfelt. The big Why? still hungin the air between them.

The idea was crazy, Tony knew that. He knew almostnothing about magic and the little bit he knew he could do without. But he’dmanaged to fall in love with a sorcerer and was determined to bring him backfrom the dead. So, magic it was. He would learn everything necessary to keepStephen by his side. But for that to happen he had to save him first.

“So if his soul was ripped… away,” God, thewords were hard to speak and Tony concentrated once again on the faint pulseunder his fingertips while his other hand grabbed on to Wong’s and through themto Stephen’s. “Can we give him a new one?”

Wong looked at him as if he was crazy. Rightfully sobut by now the idea was here and crystallized more and more with every second.“His body has lost its connection to his soul, right? But what if we givehim part of another, healthy one? That can act as a bridge between his brokenone and his body? Could we save him that way? Can we heal him?” Can Iget him back to tell him that I love him?

The are you crazy? look had morphed into an youare crazy look. “You want to transplant a soul, Tony,seriously?”

“Basically, yes.”

“And I guess you’re offering to be the donor, amI right?” Wong fast far to perceptive but right now it saved them precioustime. He was already thinking it over, planning and Tony could barely sitstill, desperate to do something. But one look down at Stephen stilled allthose impulses. Tony could feel death approaching. He’s not yours. Not yet.You’ll get him when it’s time. Not now. He still has some much to do. To live.

“Theoretically speaking…”

Tony didn’t like to repeat himself. “Yes or no,Wong.”

“I can try. But there’ll be consequences. Forboth of you.”

“Will we both be alive to face thoseconsequences?”

“If it works? Yes.”

“Then do it. You can tell me about later.”

Wong looked at him for a long moment, judging hissincerity. He gave in with a nod. “Give me a moment. I’ll have to getsomething.” Wong more or less ran out of the room.

Tony gathered Stephen up in his arms and held him close,with Stephen’s head on his shoulder. A partly formed armor gave him enoughstrength to pick Stephen up and carry him to his bed, the Cloak flutteringbehind them. “We’ll get you through this,” he promised theunresponsive man in his arms before he laid him down gently, “and I’ll getyou all the help you need. I don’t care if you’ll hate me for it but I can’tlet you go. You deserve so much better”, than pain and misery anddeath. But he didn’t speak those words out aloud, they had no place here.He wanted to press a kiss to Stephen’s lips but resisted the temptation. First,he had to get Stephen back and then through this depression or whatever it hadbeen that had forced him to such extreme measures. Then, and only then, theycould talk about them and their eventual future together. If Stephen everforgave him this invasion of his privacy. But Stephen would be alive. That wasall that mattered.

“Ready?” Wong asked a few minutes later andlooked at them nervously.

“Ready,” Tony confirmed. He still had onehand on Stephen’s neck, tracking his pulse, while holding Stephen’s right handwith the other one. He bent down and whispered a quick “I love you”into Stephen’s ear before he closed his eyes and let Wong’s magic wash overhim.

It didn’t really hurt. There was the sensation of somethingbeing ripped away from his chest but it faded almost immediately and hadn’tbeen really uncomfortable to begin with. The arc-reactor, in all the time ithad been inside of him, had been far more painful. But it was still a… strangesensation and not really pleasant.

The loud gasp that Stephen gave as the piece of Tony’ssoul in him began to repair the damage was the last thing Tony heard before hehimself slipped into unconsciousness.

“You’re his link to life,” Wong told himhours later, after he’d woken up. Stephen was still fast asleep but hisbreathing and pulse were better and a little bit of color was back in his face.Tony was beside him on the bed, close enough for their bodies to touch, whileWong was on Stephen’s other side, watching them both like a hawk. “If youdie, he dies. That’s a fact. So if you want him to live you might want torethink your current career.”

That was unexpected but not really a surprise, themore Tony thought about it. “That’s one of those consequences youmentioned earlier.” Fuck, giving up being Iron Man had not been on hisimmediate agenda, despite the constant nagging of his friends to step back andtake better care of himself. He looked down at Stephen. He wasn’t doing it forhimself but for someone else. It was easier to stomach this way. “Okay.What else?”

Wong just looked at him and shrugged. “How shouldI know? This has never been done before. Congratulations, Tony, you and Stephenare the first true soulmates outside of fairytales and popular fictionfantasies.”

“Soulmates? Great.” Tony looked down atStephen and the queasy feeling intensified. Stephen Strange, doctor, sorcererand apparently majorly depressed guy that had just tried to kill himself in themost fucked up way imaginable, bound to Tony Stark, the guy with the survivalinstinct of a moth drawn to a flame, according to his friends. And the rest ofthe world. A match made in heaven. Hell. Wherever. “We’re lucky when wesurvive until the end of the year,” Tony muttered. Wong sighed and lookedheavenwards as if to ask for help.

“I didn’t say anything about you. You’llsurvive his death. Just not the other way round.”

God, this got worse and worse. “Any more unwantedresponsibilities you want to dump on me? Am I responsible for his feeding andbedtime, too?”

“Would do him a world of good if somebody finallywhere. You do realize that he’s a mess, right?” Tony was beginningto, yes. “And don’t forget that this was your idea.” But Wong lookedat him with kindness. “Thank you. I would have missed him.” Wongtouched Stephen’s trembling hand. “We’ll see how everything affected hismagical abilities when he wakes up. There could be trouble on that front,too.”

Great. Tony was beginning to doubt of he’d done the rightthing in his panic but one look at Wong, and the affection with which he lookedat Stephen, put those fears to rest for good. He’d done the right thing, now he- they - just had to live with the consequences.

“It began after I came back from the shadowdimension.” Eight hours later Stephen was sitting up and holding a mug oftea in his trembling hands, aided by the Cloak around his shoulders. He barleydrank from it but used its heat to warm up his fingers. He didn’t have thestrength to look at his audience of two but forced himself to tell the story asfar as he’d been able to piece it together. “I went there the day afterour,” he paused for a moment, “date.” He looked up at Tony andsmiled slightly. “I would have responded to your overtures more if therehadn’t been the ceremony in two weeks’ time. I wanted to get this over firstand come back to you as the Sorcerer Supreme. It would have given me and usmore freedom to pursue this thing between us.” The smile vanished. Now, hewould never be the Sorcerer Supreme, instead he could count himself lucky if hecould remain as guardian of the New York Sanctum.

“I think I brought something back fromthere,” he finally continued. “It began shortly after I’d come back -I just felt so depressed, desperate and hopeless. Soon I could think aboutnothing but making it all stop.” Wong took the mug out of his hands andTony cradled them between his own. “I think I can remember everything butit wasn’t me, you understand? I haven’t thought about killing myself inyears and I’ve had more than enough deaths anyway.” Tony leaned over andpulled him close for an embrace and Stephen followed willingly.

When he’d woken up restrained by Tony’s nanotech he’d almostpanicked, before he realized that his two friends where there and watching overhim. It turned out that Tony and Wong were afraid that he’d try to kill himselfagain as soon as he woke up and had reacted accordingly. Their surprisedreactions, when Stephen had just looked around in wonder and asked them whathad happened and why he was tied down, would have been funny if it hadn’t beenso heart wrenching. Stephen had seen Tony cry before but never over him andWong’s tears had been equally hard to watch. Their despair had been palpableStephen felt like shit for putting them through this trauma and with every wordof their story he’d felt worse.

Maybe it would have been better if they’d found himtoo late but Stephen loved his life too much to not be thankful. No matter theinevitable frustration in the future. At least he had one, even if it was boundto Tony’s. Dying together with someone had never been on his list of things todo but it seemed that destiny had other plans for him and had shortened hislifespan considerably. But at least he had some time left. Concentrate onthe positive.

“And now?” Tony’s tone was so carefullyneutral that Stephen wanted to smack him. “What do you want to donow?”

Not killing myself, he wanted to snap but Stephen held himself back.“Honestly? A shower and something to eat. Whatever it was, it’s gone.”With the better part of my soul. It made Stephen shudder. He could feelthe emptiness inside of him and it was an abomination. Wong had assured himthat it would continue to heal and that he would feel better in time but thefact remained that he’d lost most of himself and it had been replaced withsomething alien. Still, he felt better than he should have, all thingsconsidered. He was grateful for Tony’s sacrifice even though most of theconsequences would only reveal themselves in time. “You don’t have to bookme the next therapy session available and I don’t need a suicide watch. I’m thesame I was two weeks ago.” Minus a few vital parts, substituted by the manwho was looking at him as if he was the sun and the moon in one. And while heprobably could use therapy for a myriad of reasons being suicidal wasn’t one ofthem. Been there, done that, hadn’t been to his taste.

Stephen preferred living, but that was no longer up tohim alone. He gently disentangled himself from Tony’s embrace. “And whatabout you? What are you going to do know?” He had no more rights to demandanything from Tony than he had two weeks ago and whatever decision Tony made ithad to be his own, unburdened by his new responsibility for Stephen’s life.Tony had survived being Iron Man for over twelve years know, Stephen had allthe faith in the world that he could continue to do so. But still…

Tony shrugged. “Retire, I guess.” He put afinger to Stephen’s lips to stop the forthcoming protest. “It’s somethingI should have done long ago; after Thanos at the latest. Pepper and Rhodey arehaunting me almost daily with their pleas to stop putting myself into mortaldanger every few weeks.” His fingers left Stephen’s lips and caressed hischeek instead. “Turns out I just needed a good reason to stop and I thinkthat I’ve finally found it.” He smiled at Stephen. “We both deserveto rest now, I think. But not the eternal kind.”

Wong just smiled indulgently as Tony leaned forwardand enveloped him in the tightest, most welcome hug of his life. “Noregrets,” he whispered but Stephen knew they would come. Trading Iron Managainst Stephen’s life wasn’t the best bargain but it had been the only oneavailable.

While Tony held him he could feel Wong embracing himfrom behind. He looked up at his best friend and managed a weak smile, despitehis tears. “Thank you.”

They’d sort everything out. Eventually. Hopefully.

=/\=

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #wong #amy writes #inbox #promptfill #Anonymous

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adelmortescryche · 6 years

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YOI Fantasy Week - Day 1

AN: Hello, everyone! Here’s my promptfill for day 1. I hope I didn’t get this out too late, @yoifantasyweek. I’ve gone with the prompts ‘Phoenix’ and ‘Anger’ for this one.

Premise: Completely AU, featuring an anthropomorphic phoenix!Yuuri and a Hero!Victor. It’s also a partial fusion with another series, which I will not name unless someone’s curious enough to ask, but it should be recognizable to anyone who’s read the manga. ^^;;

Fantasy Week Promptfills: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

It’s odd, to see a human this far into the waste.

Yuuri had been minding his own business, flying back to his territory further up into the mountains when he’d stumbled across the interloper right on the edges of the wastes. He’d slowed down, veering right and down in a careless curve that had him closer to the trees with barely any effort.

Alighting on a branch that was somewhat closer to the ground than he usually chose, he peered down at the stranger in curiosity. Yuuri couldn’t say much about the human other than the fact that it seemed almost inhumanly pretty, almost like one of the fae that hid deeper in the woods. But, no, clearly human, judging by the scent of the blood pooling around it.

…far too much of it. Humans didn’t have too much blood in them, not enough to allow for this much lying wasted on the ground. Yuuri hopped off his branch, opening his wings so he fell to the earth a little more gracefully than he would have otherwise.

There. The human’s limbs were lying in unnatural angles – for all that Yuuri wasn’t familiar with them, he knew how mammalian limbs were supposed to be arranged, especially in a biped. This wasn’t it. The covering that humans were wont to wear was also ripped on the form of this human, deep gashes visible beneath the rips. Blood still pumped sullenly out of the wounds, slow enough to be worrying. Yuuri shuffled forward awkwardly, wondering if he should switch to his other form for better mobility, and deciding against it when he registered how still the human looked.

Dead, then. Pity.

…but, no. It didn’t smell dead. Yuuri carefully tucked his beak under the human’s chin to tilt its face up, and the human made a weak sound. Hardly a protest, too pained to have anywhere near enough lucidity to express anything of the sort.

Yuuri gazed unabashedly at the face that had been revealed, once the loose strands of hair had slipped aside to lay it bare. Beautiful. So beautiful. Yuuri had seen many humans over the years, it was impossible not to when Yuuri tended to head towards settlements when he was bored. But he’d never seen anything near as lovely as this one.

Such a pity, to let it die. Such a waste.

Yuuri allowed the banked heat he had caged within him to spread up and out, through his chest and into his shoulders, feeling it sing through his veins and into every feather on him. It spooled out slowly through the rest of him, down into the depths of every muscle and bone, until he could feel them shift and harden, his form mutating, flames curling up from within and bursting outwards to lick across his skin.

Between one heartbeat and the next, he had fingers with which he could cup the human’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over its cheekbone. Skin cool to the touch, now that he could feel it through his skin.

His eyes burned, growing wet.

He slid his hand around to the back of the human’s head and neck, easily pulling it up from the ground, ignoring how boneless its form felt. And blinked, slowly, feeling the burn in his eyes slowly drip down-and-down over the skin of his cheeks, leaving an aching trail in their path.

A while later, he finally sat up again, spent, and watching with an odd satisfaction burning within him as the human’s breath grew deeper, some color returning to its cheeks, only looking lovelier for it.

Yes. This was a wise decision.

When Victor awoke, it was to a world filled with far less pain than he’d anticipated.

Actually, if he were to be honest, he didn’t think he’d wake at all. Not after what had happened. Not after-

He forces himself not to think about it, taking a shuddering sigh and pushing himself up on his elbows, still bewildered that he could. He nearly sags back onto his back immediately; whatever had ensured his continued existence apparently hadn’t been enough to also return his strength to him.

He blinked blearily up at what little he could see of the open sky through the pale greenery surrounding him, up at the edge of the open cliff from which he’d been thrown, so far above him that it was a miracle that his neck hadn’t snapped upon impact with the ground. His limbs still felt weak, as did the rest of him, but it wasn’t the bone-weary weakness that came with a majority of the body’s blood being on the ground rather than within, where it belonged. His legs weren’t broken anymore, not from what he could sense. His arms weren’t broken either.

There was salt upon his lips. A hint of copper. It made him stiffen, because the taste brought with it the memory of someone, something, lifting him from the ground with as much ease as if he were a babe, just so much weightless fluff upon the ground. The touch of a liquid, burning hot, dripped down past his parted lips.

He’d been fed with some manner of inhuman concoction when he’d been too weak to protest. Even now, he could feel the burn of it in his chest, ensuring that his heart kept pumping even when he knew, he knew, he should have been dead.

There was a bird, up in the branches of a tree nearby, staring down at him.

Victor stared back at it, mind still reeling under all that had happened to him since he’d reached the wastes with his companions. His once loyal companions, those whom he’d considered his friends, his brothers and sisters in arms, now forever his enemies. Betrayed by them not once, but twice. Those few he would have given his life for, once, nearly had on multiple occasions, and now forever lost to him. The thought was enough to force him properly upright, though his body protested violently.

It takes nearly an hour until he’s able to get himself to his feet, though the effort has him throwing up weakly to the side, some sort of black ichor being expelled to the ground when he hacked and coughed. When he looked up again, the back of one hand scrubbing roughly against his lips, the palm of the other pressed firmly up against a conveniently close tree, it was to find that the bird had disappeared.

Victor forced himself not to keep thinking on it. For all that he was weak, and just wanted to sit in one place, from the look of the shadows on the ground, it was already midday. And he was in the wastes. He needed to find some sustenance, whatever meager option available to him when he wasn’t strong enough to hunt, and some water. Possibly shelter as well. A place to lay low, until he could find the strength to venture forth again.

At least there was one good thing that came of being as wounded as he’d been, before being brought back from the brink. There was no way in hell anyone would expect him to have survived.

It’s not the last he saw of the bird. It appeared to him intermittently, up in the trees when he hunted for edible roots or fallen fruit at their base. When he’d been lucky enough to find a thinly flowing stream only a little away from where he’d woken to find himself, he saw it sitting on the other side of the water. He’d stared at it, unblinking, and it had stared back before trilling some unfamiliar melody and taking to the air. Flying away from him. Even later, after a few nights spent up in the trees, he found the bird waiting for him again, further up the mountains when he’d attempted to follow the stream to its source, hoping for a more stable place to tend to his weariness.

A beautiful little lake, untouched by humanity. Possibly fed by ice melt flowing down from even further up the mountain he was journeying over. And the bird, sunning itself upon some rocks, there almost as though it were waiting for him. In the pale light of an early morning sun, Victor could better appreciate the richness of its flame red plumage, and the way its eyes seemed to glow a ruddy, bronzed shade, an almost alien sentience visible in its gaze.

Victor was no fool. He could tell there was something unnatural about the bird. But it had done nothing to hurt him so far, and so, he would leave it be. It wasn’t like he was willing to take on those claws and that wingspan when he didn’t have anything to defend himself with, anyway.

You’d think his traitorous friends would at least leave his dying body some dignity and leave his weapons behind. Apparently not.

By some happy circumstance, he found a tiny cave not far from the lake. More a burrow than a cave, seeing as it was half buried under a tree, but he would take what he could get. And it was a place for him to hide and spend the night, not too cold or warm, and relatively protected from the stranger weather phenomenon that struck the wastes at times.

His days were spent in relative solitude, after that point. Nothing more to do with his time other than search for food, and rest when he wasn’t hunting. Oddly enough the bird continued to be his companion, somehow finding it within itself to come down and keep him company.

The first time he succeeded in finding fresh fruit, which was a painfully rare commodity in the wastes as he’d found, he offered up part of his bounty to his only companion. The bird had seemed almost amusingly startled, but it didn’t fly away, instead coming closer and gingerly accepting the berries from his fingers, sitting by his side on the edge of the pond while he ate.

His strength slowly returned to him, over the passing days. Slowly, gradually, at an incremental pace that infuriated him as much as it filled him with a sharp joy. The increasing vigor in his limbs and his frame brought with it the reminder that he’d reached this rock bottom for a reason. That for all he’d survived on a miracle, possibly on the whim of some higher power, he’d survived. And he owed a debt to those who hadn’t.

He owed it to them. To Chris, to Georgi, to Mila. He’d survived, they hadn’t, and he would make those that had betrayed them rue the day they’d ever courted conspiracy.

He awoke from dreams painted red in pain and blood in equal measure to the sensation of something sitting at his side. Someone. Something. It was too dark to tell, in his little burrow, even the little light from the moon and stars not penetrating the gloom of his temporary home. He tried to jerk upright, chest still heaving from his dreams, but a hand pressed up against his flank, keeping him down against the ground.

The hand burned, nearly a brand against his bare skin. Too hot, like the heat of a furnace, enough so to imagine it singeing his skin.

“You dream of much, human,” the being murmured, its voice soft, cutting easily through the darkness that surrounded them.

They nearly made Victor choke.

“What’s it to you?” he whispered back, trying to hide his unease. It had to have been futile, surely the creature could tell how uncomfortable he was? How much he wished for a blade so he could skewer it where it sat?

It made no sign of being able to tell anything of the sort, patting his side almost absentmindedly.

“Well. I kept your life beating in your chest. You would think that that would be enough to want to know why you never seem to sleep,” it said, thoughtful, and Victor pushed himself upright against the inhuman strength of the grip that coaxed him to stay down.

It was too dark. It was too dark. Victor couldn’t see the face of the creature that sat beside him in the night.

“Your name?” It asked, and Victor swallowed dryly, shivering when a hand cupped his jaw and part of his neck.

“I think it would be a very bad idea to say,” he replied, and the creature laughed, sounding honestly amused, the sound warm and filling Victor with the same steady strength that had been keeping him going since he’d awoken at the scene of his death, almost a whole month ago.

“Maybe so,” it agreed, sounding appreciative and vaguely fond. “Very well, then. I’ll continue to call you my pretty one in my head. You do shine so well in the light.”

“Who are you?” Victor replied, voice hoarse. For naught, because all it did was make the creature laugh again.

“Sleep, pretty one,” it said. “Dream not of death. I’ve picked you out for myself, no one will encroach on your person when I am there to prevent it.”

And then it was gone, leaving Victor to stare into the darkness alone.

He supposed he wasn’t all that surprised when the bird burst into flame, revealing itself to be something… other, the first time his life was truly in peril at the hands of the border guard, on his way back to civilization. Instead of pausing to stare at the uncomfortably humanoid being that had appeared at his side, now familiar flame red feathers interspersed amongst its longish black hair, he instead took care of those soldiers he could handle alone.

“Humans,” it declared later, “are far too prone to violence.”

“Says you, as you shake off the blood staining your hands and claws,” Victor turned back on it dryly, washing the sword he’d snatched off a guard in the stream nearby.

“Well. It��s unpalatable. I prefer pork, personally,” it said, face screwed up in derision, completely missing the point, and Victor had to laugh.

When he opened his eyes, the being was staring at him again, its eyes far more arresting in a more human face. Less bronzed and more earthen, now, its gaze all-consuming as it watched his face, head tilted a little to the side.

Victor swallowed, mouth dry.

“So you rescued me and then stayed by my side, all this time,” he said later in the night, leaning back against a stack of hay in the stable he’d been offered to spend the night.

The being, back in its humanoid shape, now that there wasn’t anyone else to see it, was walking through the stable curiously, leaning in to peer at the horses with wide eyes. Amazingly enough, they didn’t seem to be spooked at all. It made Victor feel a bit better about trusting his back to it.

“You were interesting to watch,” the words were thrown out almost blandly, like an afterthought. “And you gave me fish. And fruit.”

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, is it,” Victor mused wryly, remembering what it had said about pork earlier on.

The next thing he knew, the being was right in front of him, close enough that the tips of their noses were touching. Victor would deny it to the last of his days, but he actually yelped in alarm.

“I,” it said, sounding disgusted, “am no man.”

“That’s rather obvious, yes, I can still see your feathers.” Victor responded, voice a little high pitched.

The being blinked at him slowly, and lifted a hand to run it through the feathers, the plumes actually growing from its head along with the hair, somehow.

“Oh. They are very nice feathers, aren’t they,” it said rather bashfully, and Victor could only stare back at it, bemused.

“…er. Yes. Very nice feathers. Such a lovely shade of fiery red-”

“I am of fire. My feathers represent me well,” it said primly, and Victor blinked at it, suddenly connecting innumerable little facts he’d registered over the last month or so together to see a larger, clearer picture.

“You’re a phoenix,” he breathed, awed, and the being preened.

“Why, yes. How nice of you to have finally noticed.”

Victor blinked at it, again, and it blinked back, the corners of its eyes crinkled in amusement.

“…ah. That did take me longer than it should have, didn’t it.” He admitted sheepishly.

The being nodded, continuing to look amused. Victor couldn’t seem to stop staring, his chest filling with a strange sort of joy, one that he hadn’t ever dreamt of being able to feel again. Not since his old companions had turned on him, and the others. He’d had moments like this before, nights after a whole day’s worth of travel when Chris cracked bawdy jokes at his own expense, when Georgi insisted on singing a spontaneous sonnet to some barmaid’s generous heart and kind words, when Mila sat at his side, laughing at the other two and elbowing him in the side in glee. Companionship, which he’d never dreamt of having again, which had been returned to him by the same being that had saved his life.

“Victor,” he said abruptly, making the phoenix blink in surprise at him. “My name. It’s Victor.”

The being’s eyes went wide momentarily, and its lips spread in a delighted smile.

“Unexpected, pretty one. What of hiding yourself from me? Is this because we are in a human settlement?”

Victor sputtered, and the being laughed softly, reaching out with a claw-tipped hand to cup his cheek, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone.

“Very well. Victor. You may call me Yuuri, I do not mind. For you have met me halfway.”

Yuuri. Yuuri. Victor felt the name settle in his chest, warming him from within the same as Yuuri’s laughter had before. Same as the tears it’d fed into Victor’s mouth when he’d still been unconscious. Yuuri was right, it was a show of trust, and he’d been met halfway as well, hadn’t he.

It wasn’t enough to melt away his anger, or his need for vengeance. But it was a promise, of sorts. Almost reminding him that there was more to be had than a life of silent anger suffered alone, focused unerringly on revenge.

He wasn’t sure what miracle had led Yuuri to his side that day, instead of any of the other strange creatures and powers that roamed the wastes. But he was happy that it had been Yuuri. Because Yuuri seemed to have given him so much more than a simple revival into a life of pain.

Yuuri made a questioning sound when he reached out wordlessly with both arms. Victor felt vindicated when the being actually squeaked upon being dragged closer into a tight embrace.

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